


The 77th Hunger Games

by MathConcepts



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Fandom, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Body Horror, Canon Divergence - The Hunger Games, Character Death, Characters acting somewhat OOC, Child Death, Dark Katniss Everdeen, F/M, Fleshing out a character, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Muttations (Hunger Games), Mutts, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Katniss Everdeen, Past Character Death, Politics, President Snow's Past, References to The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: "That's a pity." she says. "I was saving Snow's granddaughter for you." I can feel my mouth go dry, and I shake my head. Snow's granddaughter? Johanna had mentioned her, but it seems so unreal to even contemplate. A granddaughter means he had a daughter or son, a child of his. His blood, more of him. Another Snow.AU where Katniss doesn't kill Coin, and Coin follows through with her Games. Katniss is pushed to take a more active role in the next Hunger Games, as the mentor of one of the most prominent Capitol children. At first it's only revenge for Katniss, but it becomes more more personal as she gets to know her tribute. And as the Games go on, she finds she'll have to choose between life and vendetta, revenge and love.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy & Katniss Everdeen, Katniss & Snow's Granddaughter, Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen/Johanna Mason, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Past Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	1. "The Execution"

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to emulate Suzanne Collins' writing style as best I could, it's just awkward to write in second or third POV for Katniss, and I wanted my writing to read like an actual Hunger Games book. 
> 
> SPOILERS! I've already read The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes, and there's going to be a lot of references to it in this fic. You don't need to read Tbosas to understand them, but I just wanted to give a heads-up.
> 
> This fic is going to be a mix of book and movie elements, so there might be some references and characters that those who have only seen the movies might not get. But you can still understand the story without having read the books!
> 
> And last, Katniss and the rest may seem a bit out of character, but that's the whole point of the fic, to explore what could of happened if Katniss went through with the Games, and it might be a bit of a reach for some characters.

Silence falls when the arrow hits its mark, everyone is making sure he's dead, probably. Then the crowd erupts into deafening cheers. My eyes find Coin above me, and she offers me a nod which I don't reciprocate. I had thought about it, shooting her, and I'd nearly done it too. But what would that have gotten me?   
  
Arrest? Torture? Death? I'm not inclined to go through all that for Coin. Cameras swarm in to get close ups of the body, and I stand there until they come for me. I can't bring myself to force a smile, so I do my best to be stoic and heroic as they film me, putting good use to the prep team's work. Snow is dead. That should make me feel something, but I don't feel much of anything. Then someone has the bright idea to clip a microphone on me, and I wet my lips and stammer for a moment. What am I supposed to say? It's Coin's doing, of course. Or Plutarch's. Maybe they want some big grand speech. So I stammer out something about justice being served and walk away as soon as I'm able to. The crowd doesn't care, they're still cheering at Snow's corpse.   
  
"Nice shot, sweetheart." Haymitch half slurs to me when I'm back in the safety of the mansion. He hadn't come onto the balcony with Coin, and he's half way, or a quarter if I care to be generous into a bottle of wine in the few minutes it had taken me to shoot Snow.  
  
  
Behind me Coin is giving a speech of her own, the words are muffled by the walls. So when Gale echoes Haymitch's words near my ear, I jump. The conversation back in my room runs through my head at full force, and I open my mouth, but he just gives me a strange sad smile and walks off, leaving me feeling more empty than before. Peeta is not around to congratulate me, and neither are any of the other victors, they're still up there with Coin. So I leave Haymitch behind to listen to her speech and go to my room.   
  
Peeta finds me there sometime later. The prep team and Effie have left, so it's just me and him. "What were you thinking, Katniss?" he begins, his eyes flashing accusingly. I'm immediately on edge now, whatever it is, it isn't good. And it isn't. "How could you vote for another Games?!" he demands. For the second time I open my mouth, and then pause. Because it occurs to me suddenly that he doesn't understand. Probably never has.   
  
Haymitch understands, but Haymitch is more like me than I'm comfortable with. Peeta never was. Peeta was the good one. He's suffered as much as me, even more than me, because of me.   
  
  
But Prim.   
  
She wasn't his sister, she was mine. This all started when Effie pulled her name from the Reaping ball, and now at the end of it all, nothing has changed, or ever will. She's gone, the least I can do is have some revenge. Another Hunger Games. A small act of defiance against the injustice of it all, like how I covered Rue in flowers. Rue, Prim, Cinna, Finnick, everyone. Revenge for Peeta himself, who will never be the same boy I once knew. If he can't understand it now, he won't ever. He cares about people, I only care for myself.  
  
So I toss my bow onto a table and shake my head. "You can't understand." I tell him, and watch anger grow on his face. It's not what he wants to hear. Who does he still think I am, after all this time? He thinks it's some misunderstanding, that I don't want or understand what I'm doing, like everything since almost my first Games. He'll learn how wrong he is. I want this, I'm surprised to find out. It's something deep down, the feeling I got on my second Games, when I was facing up Plutarch and the Gamemakers. The feeling of wanting to shatter and break the smug facade. What better way to break the remnants of the Capitol, and even those same Gamemakers than to use what they created against them?   
  
It's horrible. But so am I. Peeta should begin to understand that, he understood it once, when he was Snow's mutt. I wonder what Gale would have voted, if he had the chance. For the Games, or against them? Maybe I'll ask him. Maybe right now.   
  
  
"You won't understand." I tell Peeta again, and step past him and leave the room. He doesn't follow me, and I'm grateful for that, I can't talk to him right now. I wander the halls of the mansion as all those times before, but now with purpose. However hard I look though, I can't find Gale. I could ask, but I'm not ready to. I return to my room later, and Peeta is gone, but Effie and the prep team are back, with a spruced-up Haymitch.   
  


Apparently, he'd started the party early with his bottle of wine, which is now in its dregs. Coin had agreed to a celebration after the execution, Plutarch's idea, naturally. Everyone is here to get me prepped for it.   
  


I don't want to go. But naturally, no one cares. Or only cares enough to coax me into it. It's mandatory, blah, blah. I agree to go without much of a fight, I don't have much else to do after all. Haymitch wanders off to finish his drink and Effie follows him, squawking about how he'll be drunk by the time for the party. I agree, but I don't care.   
  
The prep team rearranges me in silence, and I let them until Octavius pulls out the dress I'll wear. It's long and red, with panels that fall off my shoulders and sweep the floor. Flames and feathers crawl up the panels and down the bodice, and tiny bloodred jewels glint in the midst of it all, an echo of my first dress, so long ago. "Who designed this?" I ask him, and he flinches a bit.  
  
Venia, ever the stronger one, whispers "Cinna." But of course. He must have left much more behind than my Mockingjay suit, perhaps, perhaps he'd known I'd need it. Effie appears with Haymitch on her arm to escort me down to the banquet, murmuring about how beautiful I look. I'm not, really, but I let her be.   
  


The banquet takes place where my and Peeta's victor party had once been held, but the furnishings are much less extravagant, even if the room is as opulent as I remember. The room is furnished simply but elegantly, there are chairs and tables for the guests, and a large stage has been constructed on the far side of the room. Cameras are in place, tracking everyone's movements, and several stop to take me in from all angles. Thankfully, no one asks me for a word. Plutarch who is wreathed in smiles, greets us and we take our seats, I'm at a table with Haymitch and the rest of the victors, who have been fixed up. Peeta won't look at me, but everyone else, save for Annie and him, breaks into a round of congratulations for my fine shot at the execution, even Beetee. It's surreal, in a way.  
  
The other guests are familiar ones, Plutarch, Fulvia, Paylor, Pollux, Cressida. Several of Coin's District 13 officers, some of the high-ranking rebels, and several others that I can't place. Effie goes off to sit at Plutarch's table, and I look around. Beyond the main tables are a gathering of less distinguished ones, and rows of others, hand-picked from the crowd at the execution probably, are sitting there. Coin wants an audience for whatever reason.  
  
I pick Gale's face out of the main row, and my throat goes dry. He sees me, I know he does. But what does it matter, he's pretending not to. Coin takes the stage in a trim, caped silver suit and welcomes everyone again. She thanks us for coming, as if it was a choice, and goes on to talk about how it is a memorable day for freedom, how the last shot in the war has been fired at last. It's boring, and I tune most of it out while attempting to look halfway attentive for the cameras and debating on whether or not to try to catch Gale's eye. It's only when her speech is winding down that she drops the bombshell.   
  
"And as a reminder to the Capitol of the horrors our children and their loved ones have suffered for seventy-five years, there will be a last Hunger Games, but this year, the tributes will be reaped from among the Capitol children."   
  
The room explodes, some people cry out in protest, others in agreement, some people are shocked silent, I see. Of course only me, Coin, the other victors and probably Plutarch knew about Coin's games, so it comes as a surprise. I briefly wonder how the Capitol people are reacting, because of course this is being broadcast live across Panem, and to the remnants of the Capitol citizens, and all the Gamemakers and Peacekeepers and Capitol government officials in their cells. What are they feeling now, these people who gleefully cheered as I was being brought in like a animal to slaughter? Then I catch sight of Effie, who has gone pale as paper under her makeup. I realize I don't know much about Effie, despite her outrageous personality. She is Capitol born and raised, and horribly still, does she have children? I doubt it, but what about a young relation of reaping age? A niece, a nephew, cousin? A child of a friend?   
  
  


But Coin isn't done. She hushes the crowd, and it takes a long ten minutes to wrest them into silence. "Long ago, the first mentors to the tributes were Capitol citizens. So now, district citizens will mentor the Capitol tributes. Our living Victors have volunteered to mentor the tributes of their choice, and other mentors will be assigned from among the rebel leaders." The crowd starts up again, and I'm halfway on my feet before Haymitch hauls me back down, and I let him, seething. Coin has done it again. Taken my demands and made them into a concession. The cameras zoom in for good shots of the victor's table, and Peeta gets up and stalks off, just like that. I'm wishing I could do the same, but Haymitch keeps me pinned.   
  
"Later, Katniss." he says gruffly. Later. It's always later. But I sit still as Coin finishes and signals for the dinner to begin when everyone quiets down again. Drinks come first, served by white-suited people. Not Avoxes, they seem to be rebel, or district. They give everyone at the table that bubbly liquor, champagne, in crystal flutes, but Haymitch gets only water in a frosted glass. He stares at the glass like it's a mutt, but I sip, rolling the fizzy liquid in my mouth, trying to calm myself. A mentor in the Games. The very thing I dreaded becoming. But I don't plan on becoming mentor to anyone, Coin is just going to have to give my job to someone else. I wonder how that conversation will go down.  
  
I don't have the time to think about that, because Johanna stands up, looking drawn, but grinning gleefully. "I propose a toast, to the Mockingjay, and the fine shot that ended the war!"   
  
Glasses twinkle all together under the light of the sparkling chandeliers as everyone toasts me, Coin and Enobaria included. I salute them with my glass and toss a glare at Coin, who gives a tight smile. It occurs to me that she looks like a spider, up there on the stage with a glass in hand.  
  
The food is next. But when I look at my the first course, I push my plate away. Capitol food, made by Capitol hands. I recognize the trimmings, the delicate presentation. District and rebel cooks can't make a dish like that. Plutarch notices, and leans over to reassure me. "Don't worry, Katniss. They were watched while they prepared the food. We wouldn't want someone to die of food poisoning, now would we?" He laughs at his reference, I find it in extremely poor taste.  
  
  
I don't eat anything. I push food around and move it onto Haymitch's plate, who isn't eating anything either. Out of pity I slip him my glass, and he shoots me a half-hearted look of thanks before draining it. I wonder how anyone can eat after Coin's announcement, but people are tucking it away, chatting and talking animatedly over their plates. The rest of the evening passes in a blur, there a more cameras at the end, and a photoshoot where Coin and the victors are on the stage looking serious and majestic, or as majestic as it can get with an alcoholic, a morphling addict, a psycho, a mad girl, and me. They get Peeta out for the shoot, and he stands there tight-lipped and cold. It bothers me, but what can I do? I can't make him understand anymore than I can make the sun stop setting. It's dark when they release us from the hall, but Plutarch tells me Coin wants to meet with us. Again.   
  
I start the meeting, which Coin holds in what was once Snow's office, or so Plutarch tells me, by telling her I won't mentor anyone, that she can find someone else for her Games. She listens to me in silence, then looks at Plutarch, who shrugs.  
  


"That's a pity." she says. "I was saving Snow's granddaughter for you." I can feel my mouth go dry, and I shake my head. Snow's granddaughter? Johanna had mentioned her, but it seems so unreal to even contemplate. A granddaughter means he had a daughter or son, a child of his. His blood, more of him. Another Snow.   
  
"How?" I croak stupidly. For some reason I can't imagine Snow having a family, anything that could lead to a granddaughter of his own. The world can't be that crazy.   
  
I hear Johanna snort behind me, and I get the vague impression that she's about to let loose a nasty one. But Coin cuts her off. "Snow was once married to a Livia Cardew, a successful banker in the Capitol. She died under mysterious circumstances at the age of forty, and their only daughter, Julia Snow, died giving birth to her daughter, Corinna Snow."  
  
I take a moment to process this, and the fact that Snow's granddaughter is obviously named after him. Did he have a hand in that? Of course he did. Probably had a hand in his wife's death and daughter's death too.  
  
"They say Snow was very fond of his granddaughter." Coin says meaningfully, and I scowl at her. I can't help it. Could Snow truly be fond of anyone? Unlikely. Whatever his interest in the girl, it was more than likely self-serving. Or that's what I tell myself, because I cannot conceive Snow, the man that I knew him to be, to genuinely be capable of familial affection. But whatever. I can't do this. Perhaps Coin saved the granddaughter for me out of the idea that it would be a form of revenge, but more than likely it's a political scheme of her and Plutarch's, another prop in a propo. And I'm done playing their games.

  
My imminent refusal must show in my face, because Coin reaches over and flicks a screen on. A girl appears onscreen, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen. She's small, her light hair is loose around her shoulders, and her face is pointed and sweet. Her eyes though...they are Snow's. But not his at the same time. These eyes are innocent and wide, while Snow's were depths of malice and snakelike concentration. With a jolt of horror, I realize that the girl doesn't remind me so much of the late president of Panem than she does of my late sister. For a moment, Prim's image swims before my eyes, and I'm back there, back at the reaping, watching my little sister onstage. I sit there paralyzed for a moment, then I'm up and running, out the door, out and away from Prim.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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	2. "The Tribute"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Games start, and Katniss is already out of her depth.

Back in my room I strip and get into the shower, and squat on the marble tiles while I consider my situation. I don't want to mentor that little girl, who reminded me of Prim so harshly. I blank out in the shower and come to under cold water sometime later, to Haymitch calling my name. I stumble out and grab a towel, and walk out dripping water onto the fancy carpet. Haymitch doesn't even seem to notice, he's ruined more with vomit than I care to count.   
  
"What?"' I snap.   
  
"The Reaping's tomorrow, just thought I'd let you know." he says.   
  
"Wonderful." I growl, and slam myself down onto a couch, water and towel and all. "They aren't wasting any time on it." I say sarcastically. I wonder why. Maybe because Coin thinks we'll try to back out if she gives us time to think about it? "Have they found my replacement yet?" I ask, and Haymitch laughs.   
  
"No doing, sweetheart." he says. "It's you who Coin wants in the Games, you're the star of the show. Again."  
  
I hate Coin, honestly. So I consider my options. I voted for these Games, I put my foot in. I should at least have the werewithall to follow through with it. But the girl, the small little girl that is Snow's granddaughter. I don't hate her, I don't even know her. Yes, she's a Snow, but to hate her because of her name means I'll be no better than the Capitol, who excused atrocities on children simply because their great-grandparents were rebels once. Not that I'm any better than the Capitol lately, but I still lead by a slim margin in the morality department. How can I pretend to teach the girl for a week and then see her get torn to bits in the arena? Now that it comes to it, how can I even face the girl? From her point of view I destroyed her home and life, and killed her grandfather. From her point of view, I'm the monster.  
  
I stare at the far wall and regret not shooting Coin. I wouldn't be in this situation if I had done what I had thought of doing. "Just go through the motions," Haymitch urges. "You don't even have to have anything with the girl in private." It sounds like a pitch Plutarch would make, and I tell Haymitch so. He just scoffs.   
  
I ask who Peeta is mentoring, and that's when Haymitch tells me, Peeta requested to forgo mentoring when I had ran out on the meeting, and Coin had granted his request. Which one, is highly unfair, and two, highly suspicious. "Why would she let him off, and not me?" I ask, irritated to the core. Haymitch shrugs. Peeta wanted nothing to do with Coin's Games from the beginning, she can't get any material out of him, and she wants a good show, he explains. Forcing Peeta to mentor would be counterproductive.   
  
Annoyed out of my mind, I agree to attend the Reaping and play along, and tell Haymitch to get the hell out. Which he does, and I fall asleep on the couch, and dream of the wind whistling across an empty stage. I call for Prim, but she isn't there, just the wind and me. Alone.   
  
  
When I wake up the next day, it's to my prep team. I got to look good for the Reaping, don't I? They bundle me into the most uncomfortable thing I have every had the displeasure of wearing, and fuss over my makeup until Effie comes in with a cup of a tea and a schedule. Some things do really never change. I have another meeting with Coin, and then the Reaping begins. After the Reaping is a tour of the Arena, which Effie tells me is actually being built in the Capitol. It's a wonder they put things together this fast, but then I have to remind myself that I've been out of it for months, so it shouldn't be surprising. I console myself by reminding myself that it can't be that grand of an arena, arenas take years to build, Plutarch told me.   
  
I tug at my high tight collar and take Effie's tea. She looks miserable, although I know she's doing her best to keep a cheerful face on. And now I'm feeling ten times worse. "Effie," I begin, but she starts at my voice.   
  
"Oh, we better go, or we'll be late!" she chirps, and all but runs from the room. I sigh, and follow her, watching the curls of her gold wig bounce as she trots away. I down the tea before I enter the meeting room, all the victors are there, looking miserable except for Enobaria and Johanna. I take a seat, not looking at Haymitch or Peeta, and focus my attention on Coin, who immediately launches into her pitch. Peeta stirs uneasily beside me, and I resist the urge to look at him. Coin explains that the Reaping will take place on the ground outside Snow's mansion, in order to allow for better coverage of the event. And afterwards, the tributes would be taken to the tribute training center, which miraculously is still standing after everything. Everything will proceed like a normal Hunger Games, the tributes will have a procession around the City Circle, stylists, training, interviews, and of course, mentors.  
  
I ask where the stylists will come from, not because I particularly care, but because I thought my prep team was the only team left. "We're assigning the children stylists from out of the Capitol citizens." Fulvia says. She'd pitched that idea. Apparently they are taking Capitol people who used own clothing shops and salons and using them as substitute stylists. I don't expect them to have better taste than any of the other Games' stylists. Cinna had been the only good one, besides maybe Portia.  
  
  
"Where exactly is the arena?" I interrupt her to ask, and Plutarch breaks in. "In the city," he repeats, and goes on to say that they've converted several blocks of the city into an arena. It's supposed to symbolic too, the last Hunger Games taking place in the heart of the Capitol, but I hardly appreciate it the way Plutarch does. I think I'm beginning to hate him too. 

It's when I'm standing on the newly constructed stage outside the mansion, squinting into the sun and ignoring the cameras, that it dawns on me what I'm doing. I've already decided to make a run for it, get back into the mansion and tell Coin she can bloody well find another mentor, when Gale appears. I didn't even know I was swaying until I feel his steadying hand briefly on my back. "You look sick." he says.   
  
"I feel sick." I mutter. I do, I want to throw up.   
  
"Peeta?" Gale says lowly, and I don't have time to wonder why he'd ask about that before I jerk my head towards the far edge of the stage where Peeta is standing, somber and downcast. Gale looks over.   
  
"He doesn't look happy." he observes.   
  
"He isn't." I say. "He didn't want this."   
  
"Then he probably wouldn't be happy to know that I'm the mentor taking his place." Gale says. I can only stare at him in amazement. My mind can't wrap around this, and I shake my head wordlessly, trying to get my thoughts in order.   
  
"But the kids, Gale, the kids." I finally get out. What I mean to ask, is why Gale, who rallied so strongly against the Games a lifetime ago in the Seam, would participate in them now. It's the wrong way to phrase the question, though.  
  
"Capitol kids." he says tightly. I swallow and step away from him, and he doesn't follow me.  
  
"I should have gone with you, during those first Games," he says. "I'm trying to make up for it now." and then he's gone, fading away into the rest of the people lining the stage. He's horrible, I'm horrible. This is horrible.   
  
  
The reaping is different for the first time in seventy-six years. The children are brought in, flanked by District Thirteen guards. It's a large crowd of them, but I only see scared faces and fine clothes when I risk a look at them. Beyond them a huge crowd throngs, pushing against the barriers that have been put in place. They are all district, not a Capitol citizen among them. The Capitol people are being kept at home, watching to see which of their children will be picked to die.   
  


Coin begins reading, she'd had a new Treaty drawn up to replace the Treaty of Treason. I only catch snippets of it in between the buzzing in my ears.  
  
"-in retribution for the crimes committed against the districts by the Capitol, and the horrors inflicted upon district children and their families by the barbarous instrument of the Hunger Games, the people of the Capitol are called upon to offer up twenty-four of their children to participate in a last and final Games, as a tribute of their penitence and their willingness to make amends-"  
  
I don't hear anymore after that. I'm swimming in and out of reality now, hazily wondering if the Capitol children will attack me if I collapse and fall off the stage. And that's when I see her. She's in white and gold, and a single braid hangs down over her shoulder. It's her, Snow's granddaughter, standing in the middle of the crowd with a guard at each side, and a pure white rose pinned to her blouse. she catches my eyes for a moment, just a moment, before the gong sounds.   
  


The gong signifies the start of the reaping. But today, it's different. Today, as the Mockingjay and survivor of the first district bombed in the rebellion, I have the honor of having my tribute picked first. Effie steps up, bright and chipper and utterly miserable and shaken, and picks a scrap of paper out of the top of the girl's glass bowl with shaking fingers.   
  
"The female tribute to District twelve is Corinna Snow." she announces into the microphone in a loud but wavering voice. The Capitol kids turn as one to look at the girl as her guards begin to walk her up to the stage.  
  


Effie asks for volunteers, but who will volunteer? Capitol kids, Gale had said. The Capitol doesn't know sacrifice. The girl is alone. I see her come onto the stage out of the corner of my eye. Hidden briefly from view by her guards, I see her small frame shudder. The guards walk her up to me and take a few steps back, saying a respectful distance away, although they stay close. The girl, Corinna glances at me and her face is unreadable, but when she looks away she squares her shoulders and holds up her head. Then she reaches up and ever so quickly, plucks the rose from her blouse and waves to the crowd of Capitol children with it. They titter and murmur, and some cry out.   
  


I hear someone shout her name, _"Corinna, Corinna!"_ before guards snatch the rose away from her and throw it down, warning her in hissing whispers to behave. The rose lands at my feet, and I automatically step back. But it's nothing, it's just a rose. I wait for the too-sweet smell, the smell of snakes and death and sugar, but there is nothing. Nothing at all.   
  
On some impulse I stoop and pick up the rose and tentatively sniff it. I can smell the gloss of my lipstick, the delicate scent of the perfume I let Octavuis use on me, the wood and paint of the fresh stage, and Effie's powder, but the rose doesn't smell.   
  


Effie is calling out the next name, but I can't focus. I'm off my balance again, screaming in my head for something that is missing. Where is the smell?


	3. "The Arena"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The open house doesn't go so well for Katniss.

We watch a recap of the reapings back in the mansion, where I get to see what I missed out on during my episode on the stage. The rose really threw me, and I basically stayed frozen in place during the entire thing. Either no one noticed, or they didn't care, as long as I wasn't causing a scene. I do remember Gale asking me if I was okay, but I never answered him.   
  
  
Gale gets a Capitol boy, the son of a Gamemaker, Effie explains in a hushed voice. His name is Antonius Hopper. I watch him and Corinna shake hands, while Gale and I look on. I'm unmoving though, and in the black clothes my prep team put me in, I look paler than usual. I look more like a statue than a real person. I'm glad when the camera pans away to show Enobaria and Johanna, who are the next mentors to get their kids. Enobaria gets another Gamemaker's kid, and she grins at her tribute in what is perhaps meant to be a reassuring way, but the way her sharp teeth show through her leer makes the boy wet himself, much to her amusement.  
  
Johanna gets the daughter of a Capitol scientist, who she doesn't seem impressed with in the slightest. Annie's tribute is a plump girl who's most notable thing is a spackle of multi-colored, Capitol-enhanced freckles, and Beetee gets a tall, thin youth with coppery hair. Albus Anderson, Effie says his name is.   
  
Haymitch, who is the last of the victors to receive a tribute, barring Peeta, who stands apart at the edge of the stage, quiet and visibly upset, gets a blond girl with perfect bangs. Something about her makes Haymitch uncomfortable, and he makes no effort to hide it in the close-ups the camera gets of him. His partner mentor, a District 13 woman who must have been slotted to replace Peeta, gets a boy, Soto Crane.  
  
I don't bother to watch after that. The tributes the victors are getting are the only ones I really want to pay any attention to, as I suspect they are the only ones who will have a fighting chance in the Games. I highly doubt the district mentors will really put much effort in training their tributes, they just want to see them die. For us victors, it's different. What else can we do, besides doing what we've done since the moment we've left the arena?   
  
Is that cold and calculating? Yes, probably. But what can I do? I'm smack in the middle of another Games, and it's my job to keep myself alive. Or in this case, my tribute. Corinna has already been confined in the Training Center with the rest of the tributes, and I'm dreading tomorrow, when we'll all be formally introduced and start training. Not that I dread right now anymore. We're off to see the arena after the recap of the Reaping. "Just think Katniss, you're going to see the behind-the scenes of the Games!" Effie had exclaimed, like it's the most exciting thing ever.   
  
None of her relatives had been reaped, maybe because her family isn't that notable or involved except for her, and maybe because of me. Whatever it is, I'm glad she won't have to see anyone she cares for go into the arena. She's barely keeping it together as it is, and I can't lose her. Her schedules and upbeat facade that was once a great annoyance is now one of the only things keeping me sane in the middle of this nasty mess.   
  


We file out to go the the hover craft that will carry us to the arena, and I find myself sandwiched somehow between Gale and Haymitch, both of whom are as low as you can go on the list of people who I want to talk to at the moment. I look around for Peeta, and can't spot him, even though he did accompany us to the recap. it's then that Johanna comes in and snatches me from between the two.   
  
I could almost hug her, but even if I do want to die, strangulation by Miss Mason is not the way I want to go. "Did you see my tribute?" she begins, tucking her arm through mine and basically dragging me along. "What am I supposed to do with that?"  
  
Girl talk. Ugh.   
  
I shrug, even if I know the question was half-way rhetorical. "Work with what you got." I offer. She sneers.   
  
  
"I don't got much. You, however, got the star of the show, the little Miss Snow. I wanted her, you know, but you, you always get everything." I say something really rude to her that makes her chuckle and grab me by the chin so hard I feel her nails break skin. "You got a dirty mouth for such a little do-gooder." I just glare at her, because I'm tired and sick, and not really inclined to fight with her at the moment. Gale jogs her with his elbow as he catches up to us and passes us by, and she lets me go long enough for us to pile into the hovercraft, and then we're off.   
  
I watch the tops of the building glide past us as we fly towards the arena, it'll be a short flight, unlike the one to my arenas. It comes to about five minutes total, and then we're touching down. There are no cameras this time to greet us, just a grinning Plutarch and a tight-lipped Fulvia. Johanna is now cutting off my circulation with her grip, but I endure it as the mentors pair off to enter the area. Gale shoots Johanna a exasperated look and goes off to join Enobaria, which is fine by me. We'll have to talk later, but not soon if I can help it.  
  
In front of us, a huge, shimmering wall reaches nearly a hundred feet into the air. Force field. It has a tinge of opaque to it, but when I get a few steps closer, I am able to look into what will be the next arena with ease. I see trees, bushes with bright flowering buds, stone paths which weave their way through the lush grass on the ground, and several marble benches.   
  
"It's a park." Plutarch says from behind me. "We've closed off a portion of the city, like I said. This portion just so happens to includes the largest park in the Capitol."   
  
A park. It seems anticlimactic, really, but Plutarch bubbles up again. "Oh, it's not only just a park of course, it's much, much more! Come in, come in and see!" So we go in. Coin is absent from this one, but I know she's watching everything from Snow's refurbished office. I hear birds chirping as soon as we come in through a gate, and the flowers are excluding wonderful smells. I detach myself from Johanna and wander down a path that is paved by rainbow marble. Everything is grassy knolls and shaded nooks, and I catch a glimpse of a fountain through a patch of foliage. A running fountain. Twenty or so feet down I see another one, a three tiered thing made out of pink stone that looks like a huge cake. It's running too, spewing rose-colored water. Well, the tributes won't have to worry about water in this arena. I wonder about the logic of giving them such an easy water supply, but it's not until I nearly fall into a shallow fish pond at the end of the rainbow path that I work it out. These are Capitol kids, after all. They wouldn't last a day without water.   
  
I stay at the edge of the pond for a minute or so to stare at my reflection and contemplate the first days in my own arena. The thirst is the main thing I remember, the thirst and the hunt for water. A Capitol child would not have handled that.   
  
  
Although water abounds, I don't see any source of food, no fruit trees or berries, or nuts, things I'd come to expect in a wooded area. But that makes sense too. Water can be given freely, but food not so much. It is the Hunger Games, after all.

I come back to find Johanna upbraiding Plutarch over the amount of available water in the arena, which he is taking in good humor. "It's no fun if they all die of thirst. We aren't like you hardy district people, my dear." he is saying. Annie is there, trying to reason with Johanna too, and why Johanna doesn't go entirely off on both of them is probably because of Annie's rounding belly.   
  
Plutarch waves me over to get my opinion, and I come over. "He's right, the kids won't last long without water." I say, and Johanna huffs.   
  
"Why make things easy for them?" she growls. "It wasn't easy for us." I actually agree with her, but I refuse to show it. Instead I shrug and look to Plutarch for help.   
  
"Things are just a tiny bit different in these Games," he wheedles. "Certain, ah, changes, have to be made to accommodate the weaknesses of the Capitol children."   
  
Level the playing field. Even now, Plutarch is every bit the Gammaker he once was. Johanna gives up after a while, and Plutarch leads us on the grand tour. Besides the park, there is a block and a half of residential street in the arena. We walk past the candy colored houses, and I notice each one has been repaired and repainted, and the glimpses I catch through open windows shows me that they are perfectly furnished. Beyond the houses, there is a huge grey crater, a leftover of a bombing run, perhaps. It's choked with rocks and debris, and I see steam rising from parts of it. Plutarch hurries us past it though, and I can't catch a good look at what is in it. After it is the last part of the arena, which is another park. It adjoins the first one, Plutarch tells me the two are connected by an underground tunnel that runs beneath the houses.   
  
The Games will begin in the smaller park. It has trees, and fountains too, and nothing is remarkable about it except for the fact that it has a playground. The school in District Twelve had a playground too, a rickety wooden thing that was in constant disrepair and gave everyone splinters. But this playground is glorious. It's shiny and huge, with twirling slides and swings with gleaming chains. Gold climbing bars and a gilded see-saw. A marble hopscotch center and another climbing wall with huge rubies as handgrips. A cushioned merry-go-round and a pure silver sandbox with bright orange sand. It's the playground of dreams.   
  
Twenty-four steel plates surround the playground of dreams in an ominous circle, marring the sweet smelling ground of wood chips. I hear Beetee ask about the absence of the Cornocopia, and Plutarch explains how the playground is the Coronocopia, the weapons and supplies will be be hidden on the playground itself, and the children, lured by the beauty of the playground, will go to play and find them there.   
  
At this point, I am of the firm opinion that Plutarch is quite sick in the head, and Coin is too, for approving this. An arena is not supposed to be like this. It's a battlefield, not a park, or a neighborhood. I pose this question to Plutarch, who has a good laugh.   
  


"It's the same as the water, Katniss. We can't send these kids out into a horrible place, they'll die of fright. They have to be put at ease at first, before we can get any action out of them." Right. As if that makes it any better. I briefly consider walking over to one of the metal plates and ending my misery, but I can't be sure that the landmines are even active.  
  
Plutarch asks if we have any questions, and there is just silence for a while. No one is quite sure what to ask, since except for Plutarch, we have all either been once spectators or participants in the Games, never the ones pulling the strings. Plutarch however, takes our silence for total and irrevocable approval. "Wonderful!" he gushes in a scarily accurate imitation of Effie. "Since you all approve of this arena, I'll sign the official acceptance forms tonight!" I catch Haymitch's eye, who shakes his head. He'll be in the bottle tonight, I'm sure.  
  


Plutarch has Fulvia pass out arena blueprints and request sheets, which I stuff into my pocket, not intending to use it. He tells us we have two hours to explore the arena and write down any small changes we might want made, but warns us not to get to close to the bomb crater, though, as he wants to save that for the Games. So naturally, that's exactly where I go when he releases us. Most of the mentors have gone off in a pack towards the residential area, probably to request that the houses be repainted or something. Gale and Peeta are nowhere to be seen, and Haymitch has gone off into the park to polish off the tiny bottle of white liquor he had hidden away in his dress pants, so I'm alone as I make my way back to the crater. I stand in the edge and kick a chuck of concrete over into the crater. It skitters down, hitting other chunks of broken stone, and finally disappearing.   
  
That's when the ground under my feet gives way, and I'm sliding into the crater in a cloud of dust and asphalt. I have a jarring roll down to the bottom, and I hit my shoulder against what must be hundred things on the way down. Finally I come to a stop, bruised and coating in dust from head to toe. I start to get up, but then freeze. Not ten steps from me is a human skull, grinning and white, almost glowing against the dark stone. Under my toes a something crunches, and I see the marred, delicate bones of a hand when I move my foot. Bones. The entire bottom of the crater is filled with human bones, strategically covered by slabs of concrete and rubble, so as not to be visible from the top. But here at the bottom, I can see them all.   
  
Who's bones are they? Bones of Capitol people? Of district and rebels? I don't think I want to know. But I can see why Plutarch didn't want us messing around here. While the rest of the arena is a dream, down here is a nightmare. I gingerly step away from the bones I fell by and climb onto a a large, rough square of rubble and squat on it, smoothing my request sheet out on my knee. It takes a few tries for me to click my pen with my shaking hands, but when I do, I quickly start to write.  
  
I do have a request, after all. 


End file.
